


Wrong Call

by panda_shi



Series: The Wrong Moves [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Boners, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Cute, Dorks, Dorks in Love, Flirting, Implied Violence, M/M, Masturbation, Meet-Cute, Modern Era, Please Help Yamato, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Stupidity, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28750281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi
Summary: It's their first date together, finally, after three or so months of it's-just-dinners. Except one wrong call seems to challenge this so called perfect date.
Relationships: Umino Iruka/Yamato | Tenzou
Series: The Wrong Moves [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104614
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Wrong Call

**Author's Note:**

> Self beta'd.

The difference between ‘it’s just dinner’ and ‘this is a date’ is… well… right now, if Tenzou is being honest.

In terms of how things would progress during their meals, nothing much has changed in terms of how easy their conversation flows. Iruka’s tone and enthusiasm doesn’t at all shift to anything different. However!

However, Iruka brushing his fingers against Tenzou’s on the table when Tenzou manages a witty response gets added to the mix. Iruka holding his gaze for a lot longer as they share a toast and take a sip of their sake gets added to the mix (before, Iruka would lower his gaze). And then! After their meal, when they do their cursory walk back to either the bus station, the train station or the taxi stand, this time, Iruka brushes his fingers over Tenzou’s, invitingly, warm, gentle. This time, Tenzou takes hold of those fingers, looping their index and middle finger around the other. This time, Tenzou has more ammunition of fuel his round of masturbation later, for Iruka’s fingers are soft, warm, possibly very well moisturized, too. Iruka must keep a strict regiment of keeping his hands moisturized because they feel nothing like Tenzou’s own hands; Tenzou’s hands are a little dry, his nails blunt and short, not seeing the edge of a nail file. Tenzou’s hands has callouses from handling weapons and going through rigorous training, burn marks from the kitchen work and more than a few burn marks from both his time in the military and now, Mos Burgers’ kitchen.

He has slightly thicker fingers than Iruka, his knuckles a little larger from having bone broken repeatedly. Iruka’s hands has a strong, steady, reassuring grip in them; a different kind of strength. Where Tenzou’s hands can disarm and take apart a Sig Sauer faster before anyone can pull it out of their holster, aim and fire, Iruka’s hands are steadying, calming, guiding, a brush of gentle warmth that gives your just a little bit more courage, that it makes Tenzou’s hand lace their fingers more firmly, securely, as they cross the pedestrian.

Sushi had been a great choice.

And now, because this is a date, Tenzou thinks it’s only right to indulge Iruka’s sweet tooth.

Keeping their hands laced together, Tenzou guides Iruka to the corner street, tipping his chin towards the ice cream parlour. “It’s not a proper date without ice cream and a walk in the park?”

“You really thought about this, didn’t you?” Iruka _grins_ , dimples dotting his cheeks as he gives Tenzou’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Tenzou ends up grinning back, rubbing the back of his head. “A little bit?”

“I’d love some ice cream and a walk in the park. Maybe sit on a bench somewhere?” Iruka offers, tentative.

“Sounds good to me.” Tenzou gives Iruka a gentle tug, his grin softening to something a lot more fond, and perhaps just a touch affectionate. It certainly makes Iruka blush. “Come on.”

*

They procure vanilla and hazelnut ice cream cones topped with a chocolate strawberry from Godiva; Tenzou pays for it, of course.

They walk amongst the evening crowd, hands laced together until they reach the main crossroads, cutting through the evening traffic and stepping into the more open part of the city square. Their pace slows down once they stroll into Senju Park. Tenzou is watching Iruka from the corner of his eyes, as Iruka flattens the round scoop of his cone, tongue brushing along the nutty, hazelnut ice cream, a bit of a happy flush on his cheeks. And Iruka just had to nip the edge of his cone, he just had to show a little bit of teeth.

And that this the moment where Tenzou knows that he should burn in the deepest circle and pits of hell, for sexualizing Iruka eating very delicious, creamy ice cream cone. That he deserves the lashings and being executed by a firing squad for imagining that the slight curved stump of whatever that’s left of that ice cone is the head of his cock, that Iruka humming in his throat and just going to town with the licking of the ice cream – very, very good ice cream, mind you – is pretty much similar to Tenzou’s imaginary and probably will never happen now (since he’s continuously hellbent on being a super creeper) blowjob.

Iruka puts the whole head of the cone into his mouth, his mouth shaping to a bit of a large O, cheeks hollowing before he _bites_ down on the crispy cone.

Somewhere between putting his left foot forward and his right foot following that step, Tenzou manages to trip.

On a flat cemented path.

There isn’t even a crack on the said path.

Why is this park so well maintained?!

Expectedly, Tenzou sort of catches himself, Iruka’s hand turning to an iron grip as a sound of surprise leaves Iruka’s mouth and he tries to steady Tenzou, a kind attempt to prevent Tenzou from faceplanting all over the park path.

Tenzou survives.

His ice cream cone, however, doesn’t.

Morosely (because it really is the best vanilla ice cream in town), Tenzou stares at his fallen ice cream, his slightly gaping mouth curving to an expression of utter betrayal and petulant sadness, as he stares forlornly at the ice cream now melting on the floor.

“Oh, Tenzou,” Iruka says, almost a little sadly too.

“It’s okay, I was full anyway,” Tenzou says, bending down to pick up the fallen ice cream cone and tossing it into the nearby trash.

“Want the rest of mine? The cone tip is the best!” Iruka offers, nudging Tenzou gently with his elbow.

“Oh, no, no, I got that for you, please, you finish it, I –“

“—I insist.”

Iruka is suddenly too close, and in Tenzou’s space, chest to chest, sneakers to sneakers, smelling quite wonderfully spicy – a fresh burst of orange citrust under all that cinnamon – his loose bangs billowing gently in the late summer breeze, a bit of something warm, and maybe just a touch sharper, glimmering like gold specs in the depth of his lovely, just utterly lovely eyes. Tenzou finds himself opening his mouth, as Iruka pushes the tip of his cone oh so slowly into his pliant mouth, hazelnut ice cream, crunchy biscuit and the fine chocolate tip exploding in a great combination at the tip of Tenzou’s tongue.

It would have been even better if it had been Iruka’s dick. Slowly pushing it’s way past his lips like that, filling Tenzou’s mouth and –

Tenzou bites and because he is an utter child with no bearings when Iruka is this close, his suaveness (did he even have that anymore? Ever?), coolness (but was he ever cool?), control (really?), military training (what training?), and ops experience (ah ha ha), promptly goes out the proverbial window. A trickle of ice cream, chocolate and saliva somehow escapes his pursed lips, dribbling down his chin while his mind (the son of a bitch), along side his dick (the insufferable traitor), decides to imagine it as Iruka’s cum instead.

Tenzou nearly shoves Iruka far away from him, preferably like, to the other end of Senju Park.

Except Iruka brings a thumb to his chin, swoops the trickle of ice cream and chocolate and shoves that thumb into his mouth.

Tenzou _swears_ he’s having an out of body experience in the wake of that gesture and cheeky smile.

“The cone really is the best part.” Iruka _smiles_.

Somehow, Tenzou manages to hum and nod like a brainless idiot.

Aaaaaaand, his cock decides to twitch. Very hard.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

*

Tenzou manages to bumble something about wanting to tinkle real quick, something that earns him a bit of a suppressed, bemused smile as he high tails the fuck out of Iruka’s presence after carefully depositing him on a park bench. He heads to the closest porter-potty, finds the only available one, steps in and slams the door shut.

And proceeds to turn green, _gagging_ and quickly give his back to the lavatory when he sees something no human being should ever, _ever_ see. Not in their lifetime. Tenzou has stabbed people in the eye with a pen, a letter opener and once, a spork. He has pulled fingernails and toenails out of his victims. He has skinned people with his bare hands. He has seen flesh, blood and body fluids leaving orifices during torture.

But this is blasphemous.

This is unreal.

The good thing about his current situation is that the _situation_ in the lavatory has effectively murdered his boner. A hundred percent deader than dead. Which is a good thing.

The bad thing about his current situation, however, is that he has no deodorant.

And there is no way in hell or heaven is he going to park his rump right next to Iruka smelling like the entire world has decided to exfoliate him with shit. No fucking way! Not on his first date.

A grand total of ten seconds is all it takes for Tenzou’s soul to rot within his body. He is pushing the door open with a bang, stepping away from the porter-potty and kicking the door shut with a little too much fire in his chest. People turn to look at him, some of the mothers gathering their children and pressing them close protectively, no doubt, to safeguard the innocent from the door kicking smelly man.

Awkwardly, Tenzou gives them a bit of a side-eye, clearing his throat, straightening his back, and mumbling a warning about just _not_ using that particular porter-potty.

His warning is met with mothers gasping, teenagers judging and a few others giving him the stink eye.

This is what he gets for being a good citizen.

Great.

Tenzou removes himself from the vicinity, finding himself a pine tree to stand under for a few minutes to air himself out a bit, hoping that the breeze would somehow purge the sin he had laid eyes upon in the dim lighting of that porter-potty.

*

“Everything okay?” Iruka asks, taking hold of Tenzou’s hand when Tenzou finally decides to park his ass on the bench where he left his perfect, darling, Iruka.

“Yes,” Tenzou says, giving Iruka’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I was starting to wonder if perhaps I scared you off, or something,” Iruka says softly, bringing his other hand to cover Tenzou’s palm.

“No, no, I just…” Tenzou loses his train of thought when his gaze meets Iruka’s gaze, getting sucked into its gravitational pull like a lowly meteor who just happens to get caught in orbit by Iruka’s sun.

“Needed to peepee?” Iruka offers, leaning up just a little bit, something teasing in his words, purposely using kindergarten lingo as he sometimes does, which Tenzou finds utterly cute and so teacherly of him, that he can only nod like a fool. Iruka leans a little closer, tilting his head just so, his nose _almost_ brushing Tenzou’s. “Feel better now?”

“I do…” Tenzou murmurs, his gaze dropping to Iruka’s mouth. That fantastic mouth that is the bane of his existence. The fuel to his fantasy. The salvation to his irrevocably corrupted soul. “There’s room for improvement.”

“Oh~?” Iruka is grinning, something that Tenzou cannot stop but return. “Right now?”

“Hmm, I’m not opposed to suggestions,” Tenzou responds, his voice dropping to a whisper, fingers gripping the bench just a little tighter as his cock decides to do an Olympic bar routine in his pants.

Iruka’s hand slides up Tenzou’s forearm, cupping his elbow as Iruka’s eyes lowers, the grin almost, _almost_ disappearing from view with how close he is that their breaths are mingling, warm and sweetened by vanilla and hazelnut icecream and dark chocolate and—

Iruka’s phone _rings_.

They jerk back and away from each other like they’re two opposite sides of the magnet. Tenzou is looking away, heat painting his face as he quickly crosses a knee over the other, trying to go for casual and pretending that his ham bone isn’t pumping iron and puffing its proverbial, manly, pectorals in his pants. Iruka doesn’t seem to be faring well either. Tenzou feels a little comforted by that because he watches as Iruka curses and fumbles, his hands grabbing the phone out of his pocket, said phone slipping from his grip from how rushed and nervous Iruka is as if it were a wet bar of soap.

Iruka curses again, foully, horribly, worse than some of the military men Tenzou knows (it’s enough to make Tenzou grin), before he manages to slide the answer option on his phone and with a hot, irritated, and quite put out scowl, he growls, “Hello?”

Now, either the person is shouting or they’re just naturally very loud.

_“Hi baby boy!”_

The person on the other end of line sounds out of breath. Like they’ve just run up a flight of steep stairs or something.

Iruka, however, looses all color from his face. “M-Mizuki?”

_“Ha! I knew it was you I was seeing! You always were very fond of lamenting in your thoughts while at the park~”_

As if stung, Iruka snaps up to his feet, looking around like a maniac, searching the park perimeter and their surrounding. Tenzou is already uncrossing his legs when he gets yanked up from the park bench, Iruka’s a hand a vice around his hand. And then gets proceeded to be dragged out and away from the comfortable park bench where they were supposed to share a passionate kiss, breaking poor Tenzou’s heart and making his dick wilt. Iruka forgets his buttercups a few meters away from the bench, curses yet again and quickly hangs up the phone just as Mizuki says something that clearly grates on Iruka’s nerves.

The buttercups are a bit wilted by the time Iruka fetches them from the bench.

“Everything okay?” Tenzou asks, allowing Iruka to just drag him around like he’s a dog.

“Yes, yes, perfectly fine,” Iruka sounds like he’s wheezing, his eyes snapping left and right. “I think we should get tea! We can’t possibly let the night pass without tea! Good thing I know a tea house nearby! Let us hurry! Quick march, come on, hup, hup!”

“Iruka, calm down—“

Iruka’s phone rings. Again.

Which Iruka ignores.

But it keeps on ringing. Disconnects and then starts ringing again.

They’re close to the exit at this point and Tenzou decides that he’s tired of being a giant dog on a lovely leash that is Iruka’s hand. He pulls Iruka to a stop, gives him a pointed look, reaches for his back pocket to pull the phone out and holds it out to him.

“It’s Mizuki,” Iruka says weakly, looking so heartbroken that Tenzou wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around Iruka and pet his pretty hair.

“Tell him to fuck off, then,” Tenzou offers, wiggling the phone, just as the ringing ceases and something malodorous makes itself known in their aura.

“Tell who to fuck off, exactly?” Someone says.

Someone that happens to be an overly buffed up, skips leg day kind of guy, in running shoes, the tiniest running shorts and a sweaty white t-shirt, long silver hair held together at the nape of his neck and green eyes piercing at the very pointed question.

“You, actually!” Iruka grumps, tucking his phone away and rubbing his nose because well, it seems like Iruka hadn’t been joking about the whole stinky-Mizuki situation. Iruka wrinkles his nose, rubbing the tip of it with his finger with utter distaste.

It takes all of Tenzou’s training to remain very, _very still._

“Oh come on now babe, let’s not pretend here!” Mizuki huffs, then laughs rather loud and obnoxiously, head thrown back and all. “You always open your legs for a rebound and then come running back to me!”

Now _that_ makes Tenzou’s pinky twitch for a glock. A glock that he’d love to fire and watch it put holes in the middle of Mizuki’s forehead. He has had the pleasure of getting to know Iruka for over three months, has learned that Iruka is nothing but a kind and extremely hard working individual who honestly, the world doesn’t deserve. He knows Iruka is honest to a fault, patient to a fault, and that this reeking, horrible greaseball mouthed person surely, didn’t deserve Iruka’s time. Tenzou is stepping forward, his fist balled, ready to punch Mizuki right in the face.

Except Iruka is faster.

Tenzou watches, with a bit of a snort that he can’t contain as Mizuki staggers backwards after a solid, well aimed _punch_ to the face. He watches as Mizuki loses his footing and falls right on his ass on a decorative park bush, where he squawks and rolls over it like an idiot towards the patch of grass beyond, cradling his jaw and nose that is now stained red.

“You _whoremouth_!” Mizuki _screeches_.

Impressive decibel, there, Tenzou thinks, his finger twitching again, wishing he had a glock.

“Wrong call to make, asshole! Don’t even think of calling me again!” Iruka _snaps,_ wringing his hand before he grabs Tenzou’s wrist and proceeds to drag him away. Tenzou can’t help but grin cheekily at Mizuki, giving him a bit a two fingered mock salute. “And you fucking _reek_ by the way!” Iruka _yells_.

“You know it’s my natural cologne!” Mizuki blubbers back, _loud_ and petulant. Before he snaps at a few staring passersby.

This leaves Tenzou _laughing_ , as he tugs his hand free from Iruka’s grip and wraps his arm around Iruka’s shoulder, exiting the park immediately, leaving behind a cursing Mizuki who insists, very loudly, that Iruka will come back, that he always comes back, that there’s no way he won’t this time.

*

In the end, Tenzou walks Iruka home in more or less, utter awkward silence.

They reach the threshold of the apartment entrance, Iruka leaning back against the metal door while Tenzou leans against the metal safety railing.

“I’m sorry about that,” Iruka sighs, bringing a hand up and rubbing one side of his face, tired, worn and looking a little older, duller. It’s not a pretty sight.

“It’s not your fault he’s a jerk,” Tenzou points out.

“Yeah, well…” Iruka looks disappointed. Upset. Hurt. Bothered.

“I had a lovely time, Iruka,” Tenzou says, nothing short of the truth. “I… it’s nice, holding your hand.”

Wow.

Wooooooooow.

Smooth, Tenzou.

Why not just throw yourself in front of one of the city’s high velocity public transportation buses while you’re at it, huh?

Tenzou promptly flushes.

“Yeah?” Iruka says, sounding so heart achingly hopeful, his eyes wide as he looks up at Tenzou. “Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to run for the hills right now. That is one baggage about me that isn’t very welcomed by a lot of—“ Iruka snaps his mouth shut immediately, swallowing. “Mizuki is like a weasel. A stalking weasel. He… pops out of nowhere and… says things… and I… just. Just!”

Iruka looking down at his feet and shaking his head with that slightly put upon smile; it is what makes Tenzou take a courageous step forward, his fingers wrapping around the curve of Iruka’s chin, tilting it up and pressing his lips to corner of Iruka’s mouth. “I had a lovely time,” Tenzou repeats, steady, anchoring and honest.

Iruka swallows and smiles, soft and warm and just so happy. “Me, too. Thank you…”

“You’re welcome…”

*

Tenzou gets a kiss on the cheek and a happy wave from the safety railing when he heads down the apartment side stairwell, Iruka smiling down at him, shoulder hunched and looking oh so happy and lovely under the glow of the crescent moon above him.

Tenzou waves behind him, his cheek and lips still tingling, as he gives Iruka another wave of his fingers and flags down the first available taxi.

Iruka doesn’t step into his apartment until Tenzou’s taxi disappears from view.

It leaves Tenzou’s chest pumping, racing, happy, as he thinks back on the evening’s date and finds that not even Mizuki’s weird appearance has soured his experience at all. If anything, it makes him want to be with Iruka even more, treat him right, speak to him respectfully, buy him things, feed him things, hold his hand, kiss him, push his cock into his mouth.

Aaaaaaaaaaand we’re back to square one.

Like a light bulb switching on, the memory of Iruka’s lips on his cheek, how soft it had been, warm and gentle sends a zing of inspiration to Tenzou’s brain, making his cock swell and flex under his pants. Roll out the red carpet because here comes his hard on, straining in the confines of his pants as he awkwardly tries not to make the taxi driver aware of his milk rocket shooting for the sky.

Tenzou buries his face in his hands, asking himself why does this keep happening to him? This can’t be healthy? This can’t be a good thing. This can’t be right! Iruka deserves respect, care and utter worship for just being a good person in general. Not some loser discharged military boy with no public skills, makes minimum wage and keeps rubbing one out every night at least twice just to get some sleep. This is not respecting Iruka.

This is objectifying Iruka.

And Tenzou refuses to pull a Mizuki.

Iruka is _not_ a whoremouth.

Or, well, maybe he can be when he’s got his mouth full of Tenzou’s cock, gossamer strands between his lips and head to Tenzou’s cock, his tongue hanging out, throat moaning wantonly as he closes his eyes and drags his bottom lip on the underside of the swollen head of Tenzou’s cock. Iruka can make a throaty noise, something soft, not quite keening but throaty, as he suckles at the precum Tenzou’s cock would surely be—

Tenzou internally _screams_.

Just as the taxi comes to a stop in front of his apartment.

Tenzou shoves some bills at the driver, tells him to keep the change and hightails for his apartment door like his ass on is fire.

His front door slams loudly, the sound of it echoing down the apartment corridor, the safety beeping and turning as he checks the lock just to make sure.

And then he’s kicking his shoes and throwing himself on his bed, turning on his back and just grabbing and unbuckling his belt, pushing his zipper down and freeing his cock to the cool night air, a fist wrapping around the swollen head. He rubs and slathers the warm pre-cum over his throbbing length, stroking himself slowly, trying to relax, eyes drifting shut as he loses himself in the memory of Iruka’s lips against his cheek, the warmth of his hand and laced fingers around Tenzou’s, his smile, that heady scent of cinnamon and orange, how their breaths had been mingling when they were almost about to kiss—

Tenzou’s phone starts ringing, his hand letting go of his cock like it’s been burned, his heart jackhammering under his ribcage.

Tenzou _groans_ , bringing the back of his previously stroking hand to his forehead, before he sighs and reaches out to pull his phone out.

Iruka is calling.

And he’s still hard.

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!_

“Hey,” Tenzou answers, pointedly keeping his other hand on the bed, refusing to touch his cock that unfortunately, didn’t even soften at all from the shock. If anything, Tenzou can feel the warm pre-cum collecting on his abdomen, pooling somewhere on his navel, trickling down his abs and, jeez, he is so shameless, isn’t he?

“Hey,” Iruka says, voice soft. “I was wondering if I could maybe take you to breakfast before your shift at Mos Burgers starts? It is Thursday tomorrow. Unless you’ve been put on opening shift?”

Tenzou feels another trickle of pre-cum, enough to make him squirm before he gives up and takes a hold of his cock, giving it a gentle stroke, spreading the heat all over his length. “Like a breakfast date?”

Iruka hums, and Tenzou imagines him flushing. “A breakfast date, yes…”

“I can do breakfast tomorrow. I have to be in by nine.” Tenzou bites his lower lip, as his hands start to quicken its strokes.

“You sure? It’s just that… I don’t want to rob you of sleep,” Iruka says, always concerned, always putting others before his own wants and most of the time, his own needs.

“Iruka, I would like nothing more than to have breakfast with you tomorrow morning. Where shall we meet?” Tenzou says, a touch breathless. He clears his throat as he sucks in a slow, measured breath, his hand stroking and cupping his balls, eyes scrunching as he pictures Iruka’s lovely face, that making-his-knees-weak pretty, and disarming smile.

“How about Sakura Café? They have a very wholesome breakfast offer if you order before seven thirty,” Iruka suggests.

Tenzou presses his phone away for a moment, somewhere against his sheets as he shudders an exhale, his pace of stroking his cock quickening as his balls tightens. Lower lip trembling, he brings the phone back to his ear and nods, before he realizes that he’s actually supposed to use words to respond.

“Sure,” he manages to say, holding his phone away as he sucks in another shaky breath, nearly, there, oh gods, he’s so close now, almost there.

“Then I’ll see you there tomorrow! Six forty five isn’t too early, is it?” Iruka asks.

“N-Not at all,” Tenzou says, biting his lower lip hard enough to break skin, his cock so slick and probably glistening with a thick coat of precum now, squelching lewdly in his hand as he strokes, strokes, strokes. “I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Iruka says, and he must be smiling. Oh gods, he has to be. “I’m glad we’re doing this. You and me.”

“Me too, Iruka…” Tenzou says, gritting his teeth and trying suffocate his breath, his upper back arching up on the bed as he quickens his strokes, almost there, gods, he’s almost there!

“Think of me tonight?” Iruka _whispers_.

And Tenzou has to let go of the phone, clamp a hand to his mouth as he arches up and _comes_. He comes with a ferocity that is like a punch to the gut, splattering hot ribbons of white all over his hands, pants and shirt, muffling his soft groan with his hand as he pinches his nostrils to suffocate the loud pants that surely, if he had let it flow free, Iruka would hear.

There’s a ringing in Tenzou’s ears as he crashes back to reality, blinking back the white spots as he keeps his cum covered hand right there, on his cock. He sucks in a slow, deep shaky breath, blinks the sparks from the corners of his eyes and picks up his phone press it to his ear, hearing Iruka’s questioning call of his name, checking if he’s still there.

“I will, Iruka,” Tenzou says, his voice coming out a little hoarse.

_Fuck!_

The silence that follows must have been telling.

“See you tomorrow, _Tenzou_ ,” Iruka says, his voice whisper-soft, the way he says Tenzou’s name almost like a teasing, lilting promise, like tongue flicking out for a taste of precum, testing the waters, rolling the flavor in his mouth.

Tenzou closes his eyes and sinks his head lower into the pillows.

“ _Iruka_ … _”_ he murmurs, his heart drumming in his chest. Before he realizes how that must have _sounded_ like and burns with shame. “See you tomorrow!”

He promptly hangs up.

*

The next day, Tenzou is greeted by a warm dimpled smile and a long, lingering kiss on the corner of his lip.

“Slept okay?” Iruka asks, something glimmering in his eyes.

“You can say that…” Tenzou says, swallowing past a dry throat.

“I hope you kept warm, Tenzou. There’s a flu going around,” Iruka says, the glimmer in his eyes not at all dissipating. Iruka biting his lower lip and holding Tenzou’s gaze makes Tenzou wonder. There’s something hungry there, dark, heated, tucked under pristine and properly pressed dark blue slacks and a dark gray tucked in shirt.

“You slept okay?” Tenzou returns.

“Oh _yes_ ,” Iruka says, his fingers dragging down the length of Tenzou’s forearm, oh so slowly, before he laces their fingers together. “The memory of our date and you kept me warm _all_ night. It really was a lovely evening~”

Tenzou’s brain promptly short circuits at that.

Wait.

Did that mean – did Iruka just admit to – did he?!

Iruka is grinning cheekily as he drags Tenzou into Sakura Café, where they seat by the window and share the best breakfast Tenzou has ever had.

*

That day, Tenzou burns his first batch of buns.

All while imagining Iruka stroking himself to an orgasm while thinking of him. As he scrapes out the baking trays of burned bread, apologizing repeatedly for the smoky kitchen, he reaches a conclusion that he is, officially, more than just screwed and fucked, as his cock twitches in his pants like he’s going through puberty again, wondering if Iruka touches himself and fingers himself at the same time.

He’s absolutely done for.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rika for Mizuki lines and sleeze. 
> 
> Yay or nay? Feel free to yell! Either in the comments or tumblr @pinkcatharsis! Mwah! Thank you for reading!


End file.
